Drop Dead Gorgeous

I am not Yvette, and his words have the expected and well-documented effect on me.

“Calm down?” I jeer. “I’ve been kidnapped and taken to the middle of nowhere. Know this . . . I’m not going down without a fight. You might kill me, but I will make you bleed in the process.” I spit out the words, covering my fear with venom and promises of painful retribution.

Inside, I’m panicking, the realization that I’m going to die hitting full force.

I’m so sorry, Jacob. I know I promised I’d be there for you, forever and always. I’m sorry I lied.

Flashes of a younger Jacob, crying openly at Grandma’s funeral and then hiding his tears at Grandpa’s funeral because he felt the need to appear grown despite being a teenager, fill my mind. He’d finally given in late one night when a bad storm scared us both, the lightning bringing Grandpa’s death back with a vengeance. Jacob had curled into my shoulder like the child he was, crying until dry sobs racked his bigger-than-me body.

I hope someone is there to hold him this time.

He’s eighteen and so responsible, but really, he’s a young man who’s lost so much. As much as I have . . . parents, family, Grandma and Grandpa.

And now, he’s going to lose me too.

Tears fill my eyes, burning hot and acidic. I wipe them away angrily, hating that they make me seem weak on the heels of my powerful ‘I will kill you’ speech.

Sebastian’s eyes ping-pong from me to Yvette, back and forth. “Kill? Nobody is going to die. That’s not what this is about. Tell her.”

His eyes land on Yvette, who’s still eyeing me like she’d be quite happy if I dropped dead right here and now.

“Vettie?” Sebastian warns when she doesn’t agree.

Begrudgingly, she huffs out, “Whatever.”

“Good,” he says soothingly. “How about we talk things out like adults?”

“Adults do not kidnap people, Sebastian,” I growl, bristling against his placating tone while I’m contemplating my mortality.

He turns hard eyes on me. “I’m trying to help here. Work with me.”

It’s an order, blunt and clipped. Any sense of kindness dissipated, both in his words and his eyes, which are cold now, freezing me in place. Yvette, I feel confident I can handle. I’ve got size, age, and desperation on her. Sebastian, he could turn me into a puddle of Zoey goo easily, probably without breaking a sweat.

Sweat . . . ew, that’s what that the bag of wet, smelly clothes was in the trunk. His workout clothes.

Absently, I wipe my hands on my scrubs again.

“Okay,” Sebastian says, taking my silence as agreement. “Vettie, tell Zoey what you want,” he prompts, playing the mediator.

I swallow down the questions I want to ask, trying to pick up any clue I can in the hope that it’ll help me get away safely. Because I don’t believe for a second that they don’t intend to kill me. It’s the second rule of kidnapping, just after don’t go to a secondary location . . . if you see the kidnappers’ faces, they can’t let you go.

And here I am in the middle of nowhere at a secondary location, not only able to see Yvette and Sebastian’s faces, but I know who they are. Hell, I’ve been in Yvette’s trash and likely have Sebastian’s junk in my work refrigerator.

Ugh! It was gross when I didn’t know whose it was, but with a definite name and face of where it came from . . . extra yuck!

Yvette smiles at Sebastian sweetly. “Okay, babe.” To me, she drops the smile to say, “You need to rule Dickie’s death from natural causes. Fill out whatever paperwork you need to so this whole thing is cleared up.”

I gape, eyes and mouth wide open in shock.

Is she for real? All this cloak and dagger kidnapping to get me to change some paperwork?

“Sure. I can do that,” I tell her.

She beams at Sebastian, and he pats her head like she’s a child. “See, Vettie. I told you it’d all work out.”

“Just one teensy-weensy problem,” I interrupt, garnering both their attention. “No one’s going to believe it. Not even for a split second. Everyone knows you killed Richard, Yvette. And by now, you’re likely the number-one suspect in my disappearance. If I show up and change the paperwork, it’ll be the biggest red flag in the history of red flags.”

Shut the hell up, Zoey! Why the hell are you saying all this? Fucking professional pride?

“But I didn’t kill my Dickie,” Yvette pouts. “Why does everyone keep saying that?” she implores Sebastian as tears spill down her cheeks in trails that leave mascara rivers. “I loved him.”

Sebastian yanks Yvette into his chest again in a forceful hug, and I feel like an unwelcome intruder into a private moment between them. But it’s not like I asked to be here.